Decline High
by Micah Elegant
Summary: “It was just a kiss, nothing m—” Another interruption of bells. “All right, fine, there was . . . That,” I admitted. “But you can’t really think a little slap and tickle means that much to her." (Sub-Genres: Romance, Humor)
1. Author's Note

I've been browsing the Peter Pan section of this FanFic site for the past week and, to my own surprise, haven't found very many stories with Peter's point of view, let alone stories written by guys.  (Just quoting statistics; I have nothing against the ladies out there.  Believe me, God knows women writers surpass men by a mile.)  Sure, you have you're romances dollied up with angst and unrequited love, and your _grand_ adventures with Peter struggling for dear life from Hook's grasp.  But they're all told in an omniscient point of view, meaning "all knowing" or third person.  So I thought, heck why not type up a Peter Pan fic with Peter as the sole observer of the story.

As a warning, this story can be—sorry, _will _be—very controversial and disturbing for any hardcore Peter Pan fan out there.  I will discuss topics and have situations not suited for little 12-year-olds browsing the site for a sweet, little happy-ending story.  And although it's rated PG-13 for now (that's just to lure you all in), I will raise the rating to R and might have to post certain "explicit" chapters in the adultfanfiction.net version.  So if shriek in horror at the very site of a shirtless man or wash your mouth with soap every time you use language that would make your staunch Catholic grandmama blush, I suggest you not read this story and get some serious help.  Otherwise, go on right ahead to the first chapter.  And if your not too lazy, give me some idea of what you think of the story.  Later.

~Micah 


	2. Chapter 1

Neverland is believed to be this special place, where every lost child could escape the world's turmoil and find adventure beyond his wildest dreams.  Well, it was once.  Now the land is nothing more than a hollow forest, still lush with plants and animals of every kind, but without spirit. 

Ever since the Darlings left, I haven't found much reason to get up in the morning.  Oh, there's Tink and the Indians, and of course _Tiger Lily_.  But with the old codfish dead, the pirates long gone and no lost boys, life on the second star to the right is rather restless.

Ironic, the great Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, is restless and brooding over his existence.  God, what will the kids think!  Then again, what _do_ they already think?  That Peter Pan is just a silly boy who doesn't know a blasted thing about the "real" world?  That words such as "precocious" and "dreadful" are foreign to him?  That despite his years his speech consists of vocabulary no more advanced than that of a seven-year-old? 

I wonder if that's how Wendy thought of me all those years ago.  I probably looked like some kind of miniature savage to her, brandishing my knife in front of her face.  That pale face and . . . _those eyes_.  The bluest pools I had ever seen.  She must have assumed my age to be on the verge of adolescence.  After all, I didn't look much older than she did at the time.  Perhaps it wasn't so wise after all to give her the impression that I was completely ignorant.  Maybe that mix-up with the kiss and thimble was a bit too far-fetched, though I did enjoy the look of on her face.

I certainly didn't want to intimidate her.  God knows how children feel when they talk to adults, let alone a child their own age speaking with the same sophistication.  They'd probably be frightened.  But honestly, did Wendy have to tell the whole world about me?  It isn't bad enough that I am forever trapped in a child's body— well, maybe not exactly a "child's" body anymore thanks to one too many visits away— but that I must be forever branded as an idiot as well?  It is often at times like these that I find myself glad the old woman is dead.  Morbid as that sounds.  Wendy was a pert little thing with an enchanting wild nature, but sometimes she could be such an irritating nag.       

I sighed, the hammock firm against my back, and twirled the dagger in my hand.  Can't believe I actually miss her.  Ha!  Can't believe I actually miss Hook!  Sure he was a jackass, but he was the perfect remedy for boredom.  Bells?  I hear . . . Tink?

"Tink?  Tinkerbell, what are you—?"  As always, a musical carillon chime is her reply.  "What do you mean there's a new lost boy?  There hasn't been one in Neverland for decades.  I— "  Her ringing becomes more urgent, a slur of bells.  "_Little_?  How young, Tink?  Four?  That's barely older than a toddler.  How could—Well, yes, I know babies have landed here before, but—Yes, I know that but—What do mean he's crying?" 

Her glowing self has become so bright an orange that I can barely see her flailing arms, or her small body.  And that damn tinkling has gone beyond irritating.

"Of course, I'm not just going to leave him there!  Honestly Tink, you couldn't think me _that_ heartless.  I—" She spat a low tinkle, and I shot up out of the hammock.  "How did you know that?"  I glared down at her as she sprinted toward my face and shook her finger in a disapproving manner.  Nosy little thing.  "What I do with Tiger Lily is none of your concern, Tinkerbell."  Her delicate finger poked my chest in defiance.  If I weren't so vexed at her discovery, I'd say she almost looked cute when she was angry, almost. 

"It was just a kiss, nothing m—" Another interruption of bells.  "All right, fine, there was . . . _that_," I admitted.  "But you can't really think a little slap and tickle means that much to her.  Hell, she's betrothed to that scrawny Indian boy."  The aborigine was barely half her size.  Don't know what the chief was thinking, setting his daughter with that _man_." 

Tink's voice became somber, her fiery glow slowly dimmed to its usual warm yellow.  "She loves me?"  I frowned at her tiny bowed head.  She looked so fragile and defeated with her pale hair pulled back from her weary face into a simple knot, her shoulders slack and drooping, and her strip of cloth that barely hid her little feminine form sloping haphazardly to one side.  Despite my own annoyance, I could never stay upset at Tinkerbell, especially when she looked so . . . so vulnerable.

I sighed, and gently tilted her chip up to meet green eyes that mirrored my own.  "Come on, don't look so sad sweetheart."  A pinprick of a tear slid down her cheek.  "Now, now.  None of that."  She swatted her tear away as thought it were a fly.  Ah, my ever brave Tink.  Never even allowed herself a few moments of tears, not even in front of me.  It nearly twisted my gut to see her place this strong shield over herself.  I spoke softly, "Tink, you know there is only one girl for me . . ." A questioning chime.  "No, of course not Wendy."  She blushed and shyly averted her gaze from mine, a slight smile tickling her lips. 

"Come on Tink," I said, smiling down at her. '"Let's take a look at that boy."    


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Chapter's a little boring, meaning no sex yet — Sorry folks! But like all good fics, you gotta have a storyline. Thanks for the reviews. And Jess you can tickle me all you want. ::evil grin:: (J/K) Read the story.

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I flew down into the lush trees of Neverland's vast forest. My eyes rested on a small, lonely figure huddled behind a large boulder. It was a small boy as Tink had said; his hands wrapped protectively around a grungy teddy bear. He reminded me a lot of Michael, Wendy's youngest brother, with his disheveled golden hair. Then again, Michael never drew his knees up into a fetal position, never looked so damn vulnerable.

I darted down towards the boy and landed none too quietly beside him. He looked up then, startled, and as quick as a rabbit being hunted by a fox, he scampered away from me.

I reached out one long arm and caught him by the collar. He thrashed and squirmed as though he could get away. I smiled.

"Well now," I said. "Who might a little Indian brave like you be?"

The boy suddenly stopped thrashing. He squinted in the bright sunlight peeking through the forest trees and stared up at me. His eyes were a strange mix of green and brown, one color layered on top of the other to give his eyes a kind of starburst effect. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that his hair wasn't actually golden, but more light brown, like cream in tea. His eyes made a slow progression down my body until they settled over the sharp dagger strapped to my hip. His eyes shot up with sheer terror.

"Y-Y-You're not going to . . . " He swallowed hard. "You're not going to rip out my heart and eat it, are you?"

I frowned. "No. Why would I do that?" This boy certainly has a vivid imagination.

His eyes became even more terrified. "You're going to rape me!" His small hands circled my wrist and tried to pry my fingers off his collar. I stood frozen and utterly dumbfounded.

"_Rape_ you?" I shook my head in disbelief. The scenarios the little tike comes up with. "Why in God's name would I _rape_ you?"

He kept struggling to free himself from my hold with no success. "Because—" He finally stopped and crossed both arms over his chest. "Because you're just like the crazy boys in the book Lenna read to me."

"What crazy boys? Who's Lenna?"

"The crazy boys from _Lord of the Flies_. They started killing each other, eating body parts, and I think they would've ended up raping each other just like Lenna says. Oh yeah, Lenna's my sister and she's super smart." He hugged his teddy bear. His words were so at odds with that tender gesture.

"Does your sister tell you stories?" I asked.

A bright smile spread across his fair face. "Lots of stories!" he proudly exclaimed. "But Lenna doesn't read me any of those mushy happily-ever-after stories. She thinks they're too super. . .super_fi-ci-al_ and lack depth—whatever that means. And so do I. I think mushy stories are boring." An idea struck him and his smile grew even brighter. "You wanna know what's my favorite story?" I nodded slowly. "It's _Animal Farm_ by George Orwell. Lenna says the book reflects the rise of the pro. . .prole. . ._pro-le-ta-ri-at _against the boog. . ._booog_—"

"Bourgeoisie?" I supplied.

"Exactly!" he shouted happily. "Hey, did you read the book too?"

"No, but I have come across a few writings by Marx." I released my hold on the boy's collar. "What's your name?"

He shook his head back and forth. "Nuh-uh. No way. Dani told me to never give my name away to strangers."

"Who's Dani?"

"She's my other sister. She and Lenna are twins. Cool huh?"

"I suppose so," I said warily. "How about this: If I tell you my name, will you then tell me yours?"

He tilted his head to the side as though considering my proposal. "I guess it's all right. Sounds fair." He looked at me expectantly.

"I am Peter Pan." When that sprouted no reaction from him, I elaborated. "The boy who never grew up?" He shook his head. "Pixie dust? Neverland? Flying?" Nothing rang a bell. "You've never heard of me?"

"Nope, sorry. But your name's kinda cool." Another idea struck him. Joy. "Hey, did ya know that the initials of your name are P.P. Ha ha, pee-pee!" He laughed wildly on the floor, clutching his mossy bear. I waited until the worst of the laughter passed.

"Yes, I'm sure that's very amusing." He giggled every now and then and sat his bottom on the grass-covered ground. "Now do you mind telling my what _your_ name is?"

He wiped at his eyes. "Justinian Bromvosky," he blurted between giggles. "But everyone calls me Justin." He smiled up at me.

I inclined my head towards him. "Nice to meet you, Justin." I extended my hand out in greeting. He shook it up and down several times until my arm ached and I had to pry my fingers away from his grasp. "So Justin," I rubbed my hand, praying for some semblance of feeling to return. "How did you get so far away from home?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I just remember sleeping in my cradle, and the next minute I woke up here." He took in his surroundings for the first time. "Wow, this place is awesome! You live here?"

I nodded. "You're in Neverland." Out of a nearby bush, Tinkerbell circled Justin and fanned her wings a few times in front of his curious face. She then circled me, leaving a small trail of golden dust to decorate the grass, and seated herself comfortably on my left shoulder.

"What's that?"

"That, or rather, she is a fairy." I nudged my shoulder for her to stand. "Justin, I'd like you to meet Tinkerbell." Tink did a graceful curtsy and resumed her seated position on my shoulder.

"A real fairy." Justin said in awe, then stepped away. "But Lenna says there's no such things as fairies."

I quickly covered Tink's ears with my thumb and forefinger, hoping she didn't catch that little comment.

"Oh fairies do exist, Justin," I assured him. I raised my hand before he could continue with his next flow of words. "And don't _ever_ say that you don't believe in fairies. Every time someone says 'I do not believe in fairies,' a fairy somewhere falls down dead."

He paused for a moment. "Then Lenna must've killed a gazillion fairies."

My legs gave way and I fell onto the grass.

Justin peered down at me, a frown creasing his smooth forehead. "You all right, Peter?"

"Fine." I nodded and shook myself until I floated upright.

"Holy cucumbers! You can fly?"

"Yes," I stated matter-of-factly. A peculiar thought occurred to me. "Justin, where do you live?"

"San Francisco, California. Right in the middle of Ingleside," he blurted out proudly, then seemed to regret his quick answer. "Just don't tell my sisters I said that." He motioned for me to bend closer and whispered in a conspirator's tone, "I'm not supposed to tell people where I live."

"Don't worry Justin. I won't tell them." I stood and regarded him curiously. "What would you say if I told you I could teach you how to fly?"

His peculiar eyes light up, radiating pigments of autumn. "You really mean that?"

"Of course." I rested both hands on my waist. "And I'll do you one better. I'll even guide you home." Besides, I had a bizarre desire to meet this Lenna.

"This is beyond cool!" His smile revealed incredibly white teeth and sheer joy. "What do I hafta do?" he asked impatiently.

"First, I sprinkle fairy dust on you." I motioned for Tink to do the honors. "Then you just think of happy, wonderful thoughts and you fly—like this." I demonstrated, circling him once, twice, then landing on a nearby boulder. "Try it."

He clenched his little fingers into tight fists, scrunched his shoulders until he looked like an upright ball, and shut his eyes in anticipation. As his pale brows furrowed in concentration, Justin's short legs departed a good three feet from the ground until his head was nearly at the same level as my own. He slowly opened his eyes and gasped, his lips forming a soft "wow." Drifting to and fro, he made a quick surveillance of his surroundings. His green-brown eyes sparkled with excitement.

"How do you feel, Justin?" I floated a little after him to make sure he didn't drift too high.

"This is freaking awesome!" was his reply. "Lenna and Dani would never believe me. Woo-hoo!" He dipped and swerved around a large Never oak, awkwardly gliding higher toward the jagged branches. I touched his shoulder and subtly guided him back down. I had a feeling Lenna and Dani would not be so welcoming if I returned their brother in multiple pieces.

"Ready to go home?" I asked. Justin nodded his head absently. His mind still seemed to be wandering over the sights around him.

I took hold of his small hand and led him into the open clearing above the forest. Tink suddenly appeared by my shoulder.

I stopped abruptly and turned towards her.

"Tink, I need you to stay here." A ringing protest of bells. "You know why. Should something go wrong, I need someone to inform me immediately." She crossed tiny, slender arms over her stomach. "I need you to watch over Neverland while I am away." She turned away from me, huffing. I gently brought her back around and tilted her chin up. "I promise I won't be gone for long. Please Tink, do this for me."

She sighed, resignation clear in her vivid green eyes, and nodded. I laid a chaste kiss on her little blonde head.

"Don't worry, Tinkerbell. I'll be back before you know it."

I clasped Justin's hand once again and, insuring myself all was clear, sprinted towards the cerulean sky.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** _Whew_, finally typed up this shit. Junked the summary, figure it took up too much space and time for comfort. Thanks for the reviews. Nice to know another Peter POV writer out there: Live long and prosper The Mouse of Anon (yes, that's some long-ass review, but hey, it's all good).

Chapter is **Rated R** for minor cussing and sexual tension, though nothing outstandingly graphic yet. In any case, if ya ain't old enough, Go back! Or actually, if you don't give a shit, then read on.

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Chapter 3

I'll admit I have enjoyed the sights outside of Neverland before: the tall city buildings, the trees that seem to grow out of cement blocks, the gaudy, outrageous fashions of women. But the blinding lights and that God-awful honking of those damn automobiles is enough to make any convict pray for the mercy of solitary confinement.

The world's certainly changed since the last time I've visited. Then again, when was the last time? The only memory I can think of is when I came to see Wendy, a grown woman a little past her prime, definitely a mother then. She was sitting in her chair, knitting by the mammoth block she called a radio, with a pair of wire glasses balanced precariously on her nose. Her hair had begun to gray along sides though it was still a vibrant auburn color. Slight wrinkles had crept into the corners of her eyes, mirroring that small kiss at the tiny dip of her thinning lips. She was aging, slowly but steadily she was aging. The last I heard of her, she'd died in that same chair with a case of some disease that diminished the brain, making her forgetful and absent-minded. Often, she was unable to recall her name or even recognize her own husband and children. Pity.

But the sights then are nothing like the modern city's macabre of sensations flooding my system. Even the air smells different, like perspiring bodies, stale oil and rancid food, yet lingered also the alluring aroma of sultry food, like sweet tobacco and liquor, and faintly of. . .well, sex.

I looked back to see Justin tailing behind me. He seemed to be enjoying the view just about as much as I am. I guess when you're barely three feet tall, looking down at the world at a couple hundred kilometers up can be a pretty exhilarating experience.

"How are you feeling, Justin?" I asked him, just as we rounded a tall, column-like building.

He shook his head in awe. "Radical." Then suddenly he noticed the tower we'd passed. "Holy cheese-its, that was Coit Tower! I've never been in there before. Dani says there's nothing in there but stairs that go to the top, and you hafta pay like four bucks or something just to go in. What a rip-off, huh?"

"I suppose so. But I think it depends on how much you value a view of the city. Not everyone has had the fortune of living in San Francisco. It is a very beautiful city."

"Yeah, I guess it is. . .at night," he grudgingly agreed. "Especially if you're looking at it from here." He did a small dip and circled my larger frame. "Woo-hoo!" Justin sprinted forward and back, displaying an array of acrobatics that would have made any gymnast jealous. I sped forward and caught his ankle, steadying him as we flew over the colorful streets of Chinatown. Bright red lanterns dangled over storefronts. Above the narrow streets, yellow and pink banners with blue print streaked across from brick buildings to fire escapes. Apparently, this tourist attraction likes to mimic the same flashy, chintzy attempts as Las Vegas to seek attention.

I slowly glided downward, bringing Justin underneath my arm, and swerved passed Downtown to Sunset Boulevard. I had visited San Francisco once, when it was still under the name of Yuerba Buena during the gold fever days. Many of the roads and street names remain the same, but other areas seemed to have appeared where once there was nothing but ocean. I saw more of those sleek automobiles as we flew by Anza and Balboa. More paved streets, more lights, more goddamn horns. This bizarre city never sleeps.

I veered right, passed some gray and red modern train stampeding in the opposite direction, and flew over the black iron gates leading in to the Ingleside houses.

Even from above the rooftops, I had an inkling Justin came from a pretty well off family. If memory serves me correct, housing in San Francisco was either expensive or _very_ expensive. Ingleside exuded wealth. Money clung to this place like some invisible second skin. Can't imagine what Justin was thinking, falling out of his cradle and leaving this bloody rich neighborhood.

"Hey look, there's my house!" Justin pointed to a two-story mansion the size of eighty Never cypresses. How much room does one average household need? "Wow, it's looks so cool from here. I've never seen to top before." He drifted lower until he came across a window on the top story and peered in.

He smiled and motioned for me to follow.

In the room were two girls. One had her dark head turned away from the window, apparently reading a large book. The other girl, who had her fair hair pulled back into a high ponytail, faced the window as she unbuttoned her blouse. For my benefit, the window was angled in such a way that someone looking in could not be seen by the person inside. Bad architecture. Then again, who would peek through a second-story window?

The girl was fairly good-looking. Noticeable enough breasts and hips, a decent waist though a bit on the muscular side, and . . . well, well—_very_ nice legs.

As she kicked her trousers aside, I noticed how her undergarments (black? interesting) seem to hug every contour of her slender body. In some Freudian sense, the dark color of her brassiere and the tantalizing way in which the panties barely hid her hips increased her sex appeal . . . and vaguely my own arousal.

I leaned in closer against the edge of the window, my breath fogging the immaculately clean glass. I watched as she slipped the delicate clasp on her brassiere free and turned her back to the window. Even from this distance, I could see the silhouette of her breasts. Small mounds that softly jutted out above her ribcage. Strange enough, I had a vision of running my mouth over those soft breasts, hearing her sharp intake of breath as I teased and touched and. . .

I felt more than saw Justin's eyes on me. I turned and saw him giving me an odd look with one brow raised in question. His expression seemed incredulous as though he were evaluating my credibility on a matter of paramount importance. I frowned and returned his quirked brow with one of mine own.

Suddenly the window flew open, and I was left face to lovely face with the girl I've been staring at.

Usually, at this point in my existence, I'm used to having girls gasp and scream in sheer terror or pure delight to find a flying Peter Pan outside their window. But the first sound that came out of this charming young lady's mouth was, "What the _fuck_!"

She stuck her head farther out the window and thoroughly observed the surrounding area. I assume to see if I were truly flying and not some illusionist on a well-devised harness. I sighed. Her eyes came back to rest on my floating form.

She gave me the typical head-to-toe glance similar to that of an appraiser judging the value of a unique but very dirty antique. I gave her body, now securely encased in a thick white robe, the same treatment, letting my eyes drift slowly from her naked feet to her neatly tied ponytail. Pale skin, wavy cream-tea hair (like Justin's), wide brown eyes, classic European nose, and a bow shaped mouth like a geisha's.

She looked like what I would've called a _nice _girl, the kind that are tender-hearted, love long walks on the beach and blush even if you so much as look at them with more on your mind than just a kiss.

Unfortunately, her rough, worldly demeanor discarded that classification.

I crossed both arms over my chest and waited for her verdict. She still continued to scrutinize my body. I coughed discreetly. Still nothing. All right. I looked around for Justin, found him hovering above the window's entablature just out of sight, reached up and dragged his squirming body down by my side. Now the girl gasped.

"Holy shit! Justin? Oh my god, baby, what are you doing out there?" She quickly brought him into the safety of her arms, checking him for bruises or other telltale injuries I might have inflicted. I shook my head at the futility of all this.

Just then, another girl appeared at the window. And I almost forgot how to fly.

If I'd thought the other girl was pretty, as in the girl-next-door pretty, this girl was . . . exotic. Her dark hair cascaded in sleek black streams down her shoulders to her lower back, her petite figure (she was shorter that the other girl by at least half a head) lay hidden beneath a thick sweater and similar trousers, and her skin had the same texture and pale tone as the other girl. Her green-amber eyes (_exactly_ like Justin's, right down to the starburst effect) had a slight slant to them, reminiscent of the mermaids, but shimmered with curiosity behind dark thick-rimmed glasses that rested perfectly on her sharp yet small nose. And her lips, the rosiest ones I've ever seen without paint, were so full that they left her mouth in a permanent pout that just begged for kissing.

I was so enraptured in my own thoughts that I didn't notice the fairer haired girl talking to me until she snapped her fingers in front of my face.

"Hey! _HelloOo_, freak levitating outside our window?" I turned in her direction. "Yeah you, uh—mind telling me what you were doing with my brother?" Her expression seemed impassive, but I need not have been very intelligent to comprehend that she would dismiss any word I say as an outright lie.

I shrugged. "I found your brother wandering around my home, thought he might be lost and so returned him to your welcoming arms." I kept my voice neutral. It wouldn't be wise to fall out of her ladyship's good graces, though, at the moment, that seemed like the direction of this conversation.

She looked doubtful. "Uh huh, ri-ight, and exactly _how_ did he manage to get to your 'home' (she bent the first two fingers on her left hand twice) without anyone noticing?" I started to answer, but stopped short when she continued to ramble. "I mean—look at him—he's too short to even reach the doorknob on the front door, _and_ if he had climbed out his bedroom window, he would've broken every damn bone on his damn body before he'd reach the goddamn ground!"

Well, there goes the impassive expression.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This is going to be a long night. "It's a long story," I explained calmly. "Is there a possibility that we could discuss this inside?" I gestured to the interior of the room.

She gave me a dubious look that clearly said, _What sort of idiot am I?_

I sighed, exasperated. Very well, perhaps trust isn't one of her stronger qualities. I spared a glance at the exotic girl next to her. Her oval-shaped eyes had remained thoughtful throughout this whole exchange. She's a quiet little thing, even her demeanor exuded a sense of aloofness with the world. Superiority perhaps? Arrogance? Or simply a misfit, no common ground with anyone?

"What do you say?" I asked her.

She blinked and looked startled, as though she didn't expect anyone to ever ask for her opinion on anything. She meekly glanced up at me, her eyes wide and watchful like a doe's. Mirroring the taller girl's earlier actions, she appraised me from top to bottom, but her assessment was more hesitant and quickly administered. In a way, her shyness made her quite adorable.

"I. . .I guess it's alright if we. . .let him in," she replied timidly. God, even her voice was exotic. Soft and feminine yet vaguely husky, a bedroom voice. "I mean he did return Justin. . .and he seems harmless en—," the other girl threw her a censored look, "—well. . .soft of," she amended. She nervously glanced up at me then quickly away.

"No," the taller girl said decisively. "No way are we letting some strange tights-wearing, flying-neo-yoga-doing, freak of nature into our room."

Justin chose this moment to pipe up.

"Oh, c'mon Dani," he pleaded. "He's not a weirdo; he's actually kinda cool." Her resolve softened a bit. "And he was _really_ nice to me." He emphasized 'really' as if that might mean something of great value to his sister. "And we had fun flying home and—"

"_You flew_!" Dani looked about as startled as Justin did from her outburst.

"Of course, how else would we get home?" Justin reasoned calmly.

Dani let out a long breath, then shook her head, sending her curled hair to whip gently across her face. "Shit, fine." Her voice, though irritated, held fatigue. "Let's bring a Green Lantern wannabe into our room."


End file.
